


Caged

by Thysanotus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-13
Updated: 2005-11-13
Packaged: 2018-10-27 07:31:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10804671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thysanotus/pseuds/Thysanotus
Summary: Sirius reflects





	Caged

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: The fourth of 22 ficlets written for my birthday. This one is for [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=xylodemon)[**xylodemon**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/xylodemon/), who requested _Sirius/Regulus, bloodlines, cold, identical, mine and motionless_. It's about 800 words or so. Um. I found it really really hard to write this one, so please. Con crit is certainly very welcome. ♥  


* * *

The cold of the cell makes his teeth chatter, but he doesn’t notice. His feet are white, whiter than snow, than marble, so white they appear almost blue. His arms are wrapped around his knees as he rocks back and forth slowly, humming a simple tune.  
  
His mind is warm. He is in the garden, toddling on podgy legs towards Mama and Regulus with cupped hands. The butterfly beats frantically against his fingers, delicate scales drifting to stick to the sweaty skin. When he reaches Regulus to show him the pretty colours, he wails in sudden horror to see his dusty blue hands and an ugly grey thing held gently between them.  
  
Recoiling in fear, he squishes the nasty thing on the grass as his Mama laughs.  
  
\--  
  
Regulus seems to have stolen Sirius’ face, shifting it almost imperceptibly, until one day Sirius wakes up to find that Regulus is wearing his face, has made it his own.  
  
As they are brushing their teeth after breakfast – Mama makes sure her boys are always clean – Sirius can no longer tell which face is his in the mirror. Regulus frowns as Sirius pulls him roughly away from the basin.  
  
“What have you done, twerp?” he snaps, biting off each word sharply, shaking the younger boy.  
  
Regulus takes a moment to answer, twisting his arm free of the pinching grip Sirius has on his arm, smoothing his rumpled sleeve, tweaking at his perfect hair.  
  
“Are you worried, brother?” he asks sweetly. “After all, you are the heir. I can’t change the bloodlines.”  
  
His eyes are deceptively calm, half-lidded, as Sirius wonders to just what lengths his brother will go, to be first. To exclude Sirius once and for all from the family and take what he believes to be rightfully his.  
  
\--  
  
Later that year, Sirius wonders if somehow his brother has arranged this, as the shame rises bitterly in his mouth and he stumbles awkwardly towards the Gryffindor table. The stuttering half-applause rings falsely throughout the hall as he slips, head-down, into a seat next to a blonde haired girl who looks at him narrowly.  
  
The Howler that arrives for him the next day is the least of his worries. _”disgracing the family… shameful display of ingratitude… disgrace to the name of Black…”_ The words ring strangely hollow to him, the taste of freedom strange. The chance for a path different to that always mapped out for him, presented as the only way. The first step for that way was to be Sorted into Slytherin.  
  
He sits motionless as the Howler finally finishes reciting his disappointments and misdemeanours back to the age of three and disintegrates into a pile of ash. Absentmindedly, he spreads it out across the table, scraping random designs into it with a fingernail.  
  
An elbow to his ribs from the left makes him scowl at the boy with unruly black hair and glasses, but the hazel eyes and quick smile coax a reply from him.  
  
Perhaps Gryffindor won’t be so awful after all.  
  
\--  
  
Sirius clenches his fist, firmly. The other Slytherin fourth years scatter rapidly, leaving Regulus behind, glaring at Sirius.  
  
“What right do you have?” he snaps.  
  
“The right of blood. We are brothers, after all,” Sirius replies harshly, dragging Regulus down the corridor. “I need to talk to you, and I’m not doing it in public.”  
  
Regulus makes no reply, breathing shallowly and trying to wrench his arm from Sirius’ firm grip.  
  
Pulling Regulus behind the tapestry and into the shadowy alcove that he found with James last year, Sirius drops his grip, taking advantage of his brother’s momentary distraction to cast a silencing charm around them.  
  
He moves closer to his brother, noting absently they are almost the same height. They must look identical to people who don’t know them, or who are too far away to see the hunger for power in Regulus’ eyes.  
  
“Regulus, I want you to stop hanging around with Avery and MacNair and their gang,” he breathes. He’s not very good at silencing charms, much as Remus makes him practice them.  
  
Regulus’ eyes widen, and Sirius realises how close they are together. He can feel the warmth of Regulus’ body, his breath against his cheek. The hairs on his neck raise, and before he knows what has happened, Regulus has pinned him against the wall, rough coldness seeping into his back, hot tongue darting inside his mouth.  
  
Regulus tastes familiar, strange but with an underlying familiarity, and it’s not until later that night, as he slips on his pyjamas and runs his tongue over his teeth that Sirius realises Regulus tasted of him.  
  
\--  
Sirius fists a hand in the black hair, fingers slipping, knuckles flexing white. He tilts his head back, knocking it against the stone, swallowing convulsively as Regulus licks.  
  
“Mine,” he breathes to the cold air. “Mine.”  
  
He can’t form a coherent thought after that, sliding warmth and pressure pulling his orgasm, tipped with fine silver claws from the root of his spine until he collapses boneless on the floor.  
  
Regulus sneers at him, straightening his collar before he leaves.  
  
“Not yours,” he spits, the sudden flash of black on his forearm dizzying Sirius.  
  
\--  
  
He can no longer move his feet, but there is nowhere warm left to go.  
  
Nose to tail, he gazes at the stars.


End file.
